Memorias
by Emochromatic
Summary: Trapped in dreams of the past, Szayel reflects on his history with Nnoitra- and the progression of their love/hate relationship. RP plotline, "fanon." NnoitraxSzayel pairing.


**A/N:**

I don't expect any of you to really, truly understand this fic. Because it isn't a fic so much as a roleplay scene I wrote/planned awhile back that never actually happened. That tends to happen with the scenes I write, however, this one was so detailed I felt it was a waste just to let it rot on my computer, never to see the light of day. So I decided when I updated FP, that I'd update a little something more at the same time.

To give you a short explanation, I decided to write this scene as a way to flesh out part of the plot that had never been addressed for myself. In the roleplay, Nnoitra has a casual, flirty relationship with Szayel while Szayel is the one who is tense around him. In canon, it was reversed. I decided to write the progression from that to where they currently stand. And the way I chose to do it was through a series of dream flashbacks. Hence, things can be a little disorienting. Though it originated from a roleplay, all the content I describe never happened. Oh well... creative license and obsession team up to give you this little waste of time.

Currently, they are "dating" in the roleplay. And yes about the Aizen thing at the end; they really attempted it. Actually, they succeeded. And it was all due to Szayel of course. *Shot* Read and review if you wish I suppose, though I expect nothing. x3 This is more of an apology than anything else. An idle amusement. Enjoy~ And see you in my next update, whatever or whenever that may be. Hopefully soon, though to be honest, FP burned me out. x_x

~Tinari.

* * *

**Memorias**

There was a knock at his door. Not a tentative thing, but imperious. Demanding. In the gloom he stirred, stretching. Peeled himself away from his glowing monitor and the luminous pattern of keys beneath his fingers.

Another knock sounded, louder, and followed a moment later by a kick that made his door shudder in dread. Next it would likely be blown of its hinges if he didn't hurry and greet his temperamental visitor.

He stood up, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet as he lengthened and tensed his body, shedding the cricks and stiffness that inactivity had threaded through his joints and muscles. How long had he sat there? Hours? Days? Time in this place slipped through his fingers, the seconds and minutes and years as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert that surrounded Las Noches, and just as distinct from one another. The details of time were lost in an elusive sea.

He glided over to the door, his gait surprisingly fluid for having just risen from a static position he'd maintained for however long. When he opened it, it made no noise, meticulously oiled. Its motion was smooth; perfect, bringing him a measure of satisfaction where there was so little to glean.

The Octava stood there, scowling down at him. In one hand, he held Santa Teresa, the other was raised in a fist, a yellow cero charging off his knuckles. Strange; he usually favored charging ceros off the tip of his tongue. Perhaps he felt he'd derive more pleasure from putting his fist through the door? It hardly mattered: even while he watched, the Octava let his cero fade. It sparked once, golden, and died, leaving the hallway dark and silent between them.

Nnoitra lowered his hand and braced himself against the wall, looking troubled. His lips were curled back in marked disgust, his eyes smoldering with resentment. He seemed to hesitate, unwilling to voice his purpose in coming, but his internal struggle with whatever qualms he held won out. Swallowing his pride and distaste, he composed his hostile expression into something more diplomatic. No amount of self-mastery, however, could remove the venom from his voice entirely.

"I need your help."

Oh, how that simple statement must have cost him! If he struggled to ask him now, he must have driven himself mad even considering the notion. This was not an impulsive whim; this was something long in forthcoming. And it was important, to Nnoitra at least. So important he'd ask for help when he wouldn't even rely on his Fraccion. How delightful!

"You need my help?" he inquired mildly, feigning surprise, "The Octava, requiring assistance from a mere Numero?"

Nnoitra's jaw clenched as he worked to maintain his semblance of politeness. His struggle spilled over into his words, which emerged caustic.

"Don't give me that 'mere Numero' crap, Granz! You couldn't pull off humble if you tried!"

"Oh?" he murmured innocuously.

Nnoitra growled, his fragile composure breaking. Leaning against the door, he looked down, emphasizing their difference in height. An intimidation tactic, or it would have been if it weren't for the situation. As it stood, he'd come to him for help and his aggression now was purely defensive.

Szayel smiled pleasantly and waited for him to clarify his purpose in coming. A moment later, Nnoitra cracked.

"Neliel. I need you to help me get rid of that bitch."

Szayel's smile flickered, verging momentarily on a smirk. This news was nothing surprising; Nnoitra had been at odds with Neliel for awhile now.

"Tired of losing to a woman, Jiruga?" he taunted, "Tired enough that you'd come begging to me for help?"

Nnoitra's lips thinned to pale angry lines, but that anger was mostly directed inwards, towards his own contemptible weakness. He appeared to be considering his next words, a phenomenon the scientist found intriguing as he displayed such intense consideration so rarely. The Octava was known for his brutality and impulse, not his thoughtfulness. At last his narrowed eyes brightened with insight, and he met Szayel's amused gaze unflinchingly.

"What about you? Aren't you tired of living in the dark? Alone. Unrecognized. You were once an Espada, and now you're rotting in some obscure wing. Ya can't tell me you don't want your old title back."

And what if I don't?" Szayel replied, his tone still light but his voice cooler.

"Then you're a liar. No one who has held this power and relinquished it without complaint can be anything other than a liar."

Szayel turned away, contemplative. It wasn't the spoken words that caused his introspection, but the unspoken dare. It really was tempting bait he'd laid…

"Yes. I am a liar, but I see no point in lying now. I want power and recognition as much as you do." He murmured, adjusting his glasses. His eyes flicked back up to Nnoitra's, accepting his challenge. Nnoitra's shoulders relaxed, though the bitterness did not leave his face.

"You'll help me then."

Not a question. A statement. Szayel's mouth quirked down in mild disapproval.

"Yes, I will. I'm the only one who _could_ help you, but tell me… is that any way to treat a future business partner?"

Nnoitra spat and spun on his heel, turning his back to him in flagrant disregard.

"Don't get cocky like that bitch. We aren't partners, just tools for each other's ambitions. You've got a month, scientist. I'll send Tesla by to check on your progress in a week."

Szayel watched him swagger off, an arrogant curve to his lanky frame, and felt the first seeds of loathing take root in his soul.

"How cold you are towards me, Octava." He whispered with a sigh, "I'll thank you not to treat me like the tool you view me as, for one day, I may not be so easily manipulated. Neither you nor I will forget who approached who first."

Smiling wryly, he turned and closed his door, retreating to the wan light of his computer and its pale network of keys.

-.-.-.-.-.-

He woke to darkness and a familiar knocking on his door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A dream. He'd dreamed about their first joint endeavor. How ironic now that the same person roused him. Through the inches that separated them, he could feel his unmistakable reiatsu, heavy with bloodlust and hubris. That hubris had grown since they'd sabotaged the former Tres Espada, and predictably, he'd cast him aside without so much as a passing acknowledgment. Nnoitra had gotten what he wanted, and at a loss for a suitable replacement, Aizen had promoted him back into the ranks of the Espada.

But that was all old news as far as he was concerned. Ancient history.

Knock knock.

Impatient cursing.

Szayel shook sleep from his head like a dog shedding water and tiptoed gingerly over to the door. His feet were bare and the marble tile was cold, and as he opened the door, he shifted from foot to foot, trying and failing to spare them from the chill eternal night and poor insulation inevitably wrought upon the floors.

Nnoitra's hand was raised mid-knock, and a disorienting wave of déjà vu struck him at the sight, causing him to close his eyes and briefly concentrate on his surroundings. It was his icy feet that finally grounded him.

"Yes?" he inquired testily, shivering slightly.

Nnoitra looked nonplussed, stunned out of whatever he was going to say. At last he grinned, glancing pointedly at his bootless feet then moving up his body, taking note of his wrinkled clothes and messy hair.

"The hell, Granz?" he finally remarked, "You were sleeping? Who in Las Noches sleeps other than Starrk?"

"I do apparently," Szayel replied, slightly miffed by the taller Espada's condescending attitude, "Now what do you want with me at this ungodly hour?"

Nnoitra's smug smile vanished, replaced by a sly expression that curled his mouth in a decidedly serpentine way. It was too oily to be friendly, and altogether reminded him most unpleasantly of the silver haired Shinigami, Gin Ichimaru.

"I need another favor," he said.

No gritting of teeth. No posturing. No beating around the bush, trying to save face this time. Interesting. His motives were different, so he'd changed his approach. Intrigued despite himself, Szayel decided to hear him out, though doubt colored his objectivity this time around.

"You want another out of the way," Szayel clarified, crossing his arms expectantly.

"Yes."

"And you aren't going to be an ass about it this time?"

Nnoitra smirked.

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way."

Szayel offered him a brilliant smile and promptly slammed the door in his face. At least, that was what he'd planned on doing before Nnoitra wedged Santa Teresa's haft in the doorjamb. Szayel's hand went numb as the door rebounded on the metal and sent jarring vibrations through his arm, but he didn't relinquish his grip on the handle. Not even when Nnoitra levered the door back open, overpowering the pink haired Espada.

"Don't you dare slam this door in my face. I'm not done with you," he said, his earlier cheer replaced by a darker tone. The violent aura that marked his reiatsu was present in the undercurrent of his words, a silent threat.

Szayel laughed once. Sharp. Cynical.

"Ha. Just like the last time you asked for my help. Once you didn't need me anymore, it was like I never existed. Memory is such a selective, transient thing, hmm Jiruga?"

Nnoitra smiled his serpentine smile and leaned in, forcing Szayel to take an involuntary step back.

"I'll admit, it burns me to have to ask you again, but I figured you'd do just this and turn up your pretty little nose at me if I came to you yelling insults and making demands straight off."

"So its learned etiquette? To court one's pawn before stripping it clean of its worth so as to ensure your intended minion's full cooperation and trust?" he countered sardonically.

Nnoitra leaned back, sizing up the smaller man. His eyes were hard, critical, and though his appearance was ruffled after rising straight from bed, his gaze was cutting. His irises were unnervingly colored as well, a tawny gold and unblinking behind his scholarly spectacles.

"Would you rather I dropped the act and get pissed at you?" he asked, "'cause I can do that too. Yes, I fucking came back for your help again. Go ahead and rub that in my face if you feel its necessary, but I'm not leaving until I get an answer."

Yes or no. Hah… there really was no choice. He might as well have phrased it as _I'm not leaving until you give me the answer I want to hear._

Szayel sighed.

"What do you offer?"

"Power."

"That from someone who comes to me for help earning his… I'm tickled."

Nnoitra looked very close to losing his temper over that remark. A vein throbbed in his temple, and his facial muscles twitched convulsively.

"You really don't forgive easily," he finally commented, his voice mostly level but for a slight, unsteady tremble.

"No," Szayel replied wearily. His feet were beginning to lose sensation and he rubbed them against each other, hoping the friction would revive them. Seeing him in this moment of weakness seemed to galvanize Nnoitra's confidence, and Szayel found himself wishing the other had caught him at a better time.

"After this I won't ask you for help," he cajoled, "Promise."

"I could refuse to help you now and forever, and the point would be moot," was Szayel's retort.

Nnoitra leaned back, growing frustrated. He seemed on the verge of turning around and leaving the cynical scientist to his own devices, and indeed, he did turn away.

"You know what? This is something I can do myself. It'll be messier, but I won't beg anymore and cater to your ego," he snarled.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Szayel interjected evenly.

Nnoitra stopped, his fingers clenching reflexively as though he longed to wrap them around the smaller man's throat. When he spoke up again, he'd lost all patience and his voice had become acidic.

"I wanted to set up the current Sexta. Frame him. Get him demoted out. But I figured outright killing him so soon after Neliel's incident would piss Aizen off since he'd have to search for strong replacements and they're difficult to find. So, I thought of you, since that's the sort of thing you excel at."

"I'm not the only analytically minded Arrancar," he remarked softly.

Nnoitra's shoulders hunched as if it pained him to admit his next words.

"But you're the best of them, and I refuse to work with some half rate bastard. Besides, you stand to gain from this too; there's my failsafe. Not a one of us is an altruist, so as long as I can be sure ya won't double cross me 'cause you have something you can get out of it, I'll rest easier."

Szayel made a sound of disgust and opened the door, stepping out into the hall after Nnoitra. The tall Espada looked back, surprised by this sudden activity, and his eyebrows knit together questioningly.

Thoughts whirled through his mind. Ideas. Desires. Ambitions. Pride gave him pause, but opportunity once again teased him from his stubborn post, and Nnoitra's unwilling confession flattered him. He'd give him one more chance, and really… it was such a simple task with so much to gain from it. His wing wanted expanding and a rise in status would work wonders for his benefits. Nor did remaining the lowest rung on the Espada hierarchy appeal to him.

"I'll eliminate the Sexta, but if you really want it to be subtle, you'll have to settle for a long wait. These things take time to set up; it's a very delicate, time consuming process. The act itself is easy, and once in motion, devastatingly fast, but you're going to have to wait for all the tedious prep work before we can get to that point," the pink haired Espada finally said, and Nnoitra seemed momentarily placated.

"So what are we looking at?" he asked, "A year?"

Szayel pursed his lips and leveled a baleful glare on the lanky Espada.

"You underestimate me. I'll contact you in a few weeks; by then, the first stage of my plan should be in play. I'd give the whole act two or three months at the most."

Nnoitra grinned, his teeth flashing in the artificial lighting of the corridor. There was something disconcertingly predatory about the way he smiled; there was too much tooth involved for comfort.

"That sounds great, Szayel."

Szayel grunted noncommittally. Since when had they been on a first name relationship? Since now apparently, but then, Nnoitra was crass with everyone, even Aizen.

"I'm holding you to your promise," he muttered moodily.

Nnoitra paused, looking suddenly wary.

"What promise?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your promise that this would be the last time you asked my help," Szayel replied.

"Ah… that. Yeah, sure."

Nnoitra made a vague gesture of affirmation. It was likely the best promise he'd be able to extort given who he was. Accepting his victories where he could win them, Szayel decided not to waste his time enforcing tenuous deals that didn't really matter at the moment.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The sound of knocking woke him.

He straightened, his head snapping to attention from where he'd been gradually nodding off. Dreaming on the job… Szayel ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, letting it filter back out slowly through his teeth. He had not dreamed in… how long? A long time certainly…

Knock knock.

That damnable rapping… So distant and yet so maddeningly familiar. He anxiously lifted his eyes to the dark corridor that led through his wing to his parlor and the door that marked the limits of his domain and the entrance to his private dwellings. Space. Everywhere space. The ceiling arched overhead and the tall, graceful columns that lined his theater left him feeling exposed and lonely, an actor onstage delivering a soliloquy to an empty audience. His every move was magnified tenfold in his own ears.

It was a peculiar feeling, to be at once so self conscious and so isolated from social scrutiny. His Fraccion were ghosts, flitting around the edges of his attention, drawing no notice to themselves as they went about fulfilling the tasks he gave them. When they were idle, they kept out of sight, giving the scientist his privacy. It was as if he were completely alone; gratifying at first, but so dull after awhile. Only his experiments kept him occupied and his mind off brooding, but sometimes there were lapses of time between experiments while he waited for results.

Knock knock.

This far away, it was impossible to tell who it was. He could easily bring an image from one of the live feeds he had installed around his wing up on his computer screen, but Szayel was not in the mood to be meticulous. He wanted a surprise, and at this hour, it could be anyone. Within reason; Aizen never came in person when he could send messengers or access the wireless communication system. Kaname didn't pay personal visits either. Occasionally Gin or some of the other Espada would drop by, but very rarely. It was most likely some hapless errand runner. Lucky bastard; Szayel had been working on a new series of traps, and so his old ones weren't online.

Knock knock knock knock.

Whoever it was, they either weren't afraid of him or they carried a message so important they dared risk his displeasure rather than slink off, afraid. Szayel felt a sudden twist of unease in the pit of his stomach, and he lengthened his stride. As he reached his parlor, a terrible kick sent the door crashing open, barely hanging off its hinges. At the threshold stood a figure he had come to know all too well…

Szayel closed his eyes and breathed out heavily as a shudder wracked his body. When he opened them again, he'd composed himself, and continued towards the entry. Suddenly, checking his computer didn't seem like a bad idea, and really… he could afford to keep a few traps armed while he revamped his system.

"You took too long," Nnoitra remarked by way of explanation. There was a cocky, teasing smile on his face and an unbearable aura of surety about him as if he had every right to be there. As if he belonged.

Szayel's hands shook with quiet anger at his sides, and he adjusted his glasses and uniform, trying to find reasons to keep them occupied so the trembling wouldn't show. Realizing such flighty motions betrayed his nerves, he mentally willed the shaking to stop, locking his rising ire beneath a suffocating layer of self imposed apathy. The true secret to acting was not to change emotions on a dime, but to start from absolute emptiness and assume roles as needed.

It wasn't easy; it was never easy. The trick was in making the whole process seem effortless and in a fraction of a second. If he needed to, Szayel could play the affable, polite host and not once let the smile fade from his lips. Sincerity he could fake without batting an eyelash in guilt. But he didn't need to; Nnoitra had violated the terms of their agreement, and all he had to hide now was how truly furious he was. He would not lose his cultivated calm in front of the Sexta. His fingers twitched once, twice, then stilled, lying calm at his sides. Gathering up his full dignity and presence, he walked to the door, looking up with frosty eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

Nnoitra seemed unfazed by his hostility. If anything, his grin widened, and his eyes narrowed playfully as if accepting a challenge.

"Visiting you. Did I interrupt something? You seem pissier than usual."

"You're interrupting nothing, but that is irrelevant. What are you doing here? Why is your body in my wing? Why am I at this minute looking at your face? You should not be here."

Nnoitra sighed and drummed his fingers on the wall.

"How is it," he asked ruefully, "That after years you are able to remember that promise?"

"How is it," Szayel retorted, "That you ever entertained the silly notion that I'd forget in the first place? Once again, you underestimate me Nnoitra."

"Yeah, that was stupid of me I'll admit. I won't make the same mistake again," he conceded.

Szayel laughed derisively.

"On the contrary, I suspect you'll repeat your error, and when you do, I'll point it out to you again. Now why did you come?"

Nnoitra smirked.

"Didn't I say? I came to visit you. I made no promise outlawing my visiting, just about asking ya for help, if you want to be technical about wording."

The Sexta winked as Szayel mentally clenched his fists and screamed. Stupid stupid stupid! He'd made the mistake of raising too specific a clause, and for all he'd just ridiculed Nnoitra, he himself had underestimated the taller Espada. The man was craftier than he let on.

On the surface, his face remained cold and emotionless as he waged an internal war with his impulses, and Nnoitra took the chance to push past him, entering the room. A low whistle of appreciation distracted him, and he turned to find Nnoitra appraising his parlor with an admiring expression.

"Nice place ya got here, Szayel. Enjoying my old title as the Octava I can tell; you didn't hold back on claiming your perks. Mmm… I might even be a little jealous." The Sexta joked, trailing his hand across the surface of a stylish ottoman. His fingers left pale streaks in the soft, micro suede fabric, and absently, he traced geometric designs through the deep violet crosshairs. Without looking up, he continued his observations.

"You imitating the resident statue Schiffer? 'Cause if you are, you're doing a good job of it," he remarked cheerfully, reaching for a delicate jade vase, a vase that dated back to the T'ang Dynasty…

Szayel snapped.

"Don't touch that!" he ordered, hurrying to the rescue of his valuable décor.

Nnoitra grinned wickedly, snatching it up before he could. Helpless, Szayel wrung his hands in dismay and eyed its precarious new location in Nnoitra's clutches. The Sexta appeared to examine the vase, and when he looked up, his eyes were calculating.

"This must be worth a lot to have you so worked up over a pretty piece of pottery."

Szayel shook his head, disbelieving.

"You have no idea…"

Nnoitra considered the vase again, his face inscrutable.

"I think I like it," he finally announced.

"Wonderful. So please… put it down where it won't get broken," Szayel asked, his tone light and diplomatic, edging the worry he felt.

Nnoitra seated himself on the purple ottoman, spinning the vase between his fingers teasingly.

"You didn't let me finish," he admonished, "I like it because you value it enough to be polite, even when what you really want is to send me through a wall. So no; I'm holding onto this vase until I'm ready to leave."

"You're holding my décor hostage?" he asked, incredulous.

"Damn right. Aside from yourself, there's little else you value enough to change your attitude. If it means I have to blackmail you so you'll listen, then I'll do just that. By the way, when and where is this from?"

"T'ang Dynasty, China," he replied automatically, "And fine, I'm listening. For now. There's only so much I'll sacrifice for a pot."

"Good. That's all I was expecting."

Szayel sat in the armless loveseat across from the ottoman, folding his anxiety-afflicted fingers neatly in his lap where they could not flit about in agitation.

"So what did you want to say to me?" he asked, eager to see his belonging in safer parts.

"You're so impatient to see me gone that you won't even pretend to make small talk?"

"I have little taste for it. I also find it difficult to believe you came here just to see me."

"Why ever so? For all you know, I may enjoy your company."

"Oh please… that's a pathetic reason and you know it."

"Yeah, absolute BS. Your company is about as fun as Aizen's tea parties, and speaking of which… as the host, shouldn't you serve me tea or coffee or something?"

Silence.

Szayel considered several answers, some exasperated and rude, others subtler. He opted for the latter.

"Would you like me to?" he offered blandly.

Nnoitra looked up, a hint of wonder and alarm in his eyes.

"Shit no! I was joking about that one. I don't think I'd trust anything you offered me, even if I watched you make it the whole time. I'd probably end up dead, or worse."

"Oh yes, I wouldn't let a perfectly good subject go to waste."

Nnoitra shuddered - actually shuddered - slightly.

"You are one sick bitch, Szayel."

Another period of silence followed. Szayel focused on his hands, which looked so serene and neat arranged in his lap. He'd just begun examining his nails when Nnoitra spoke up suddenly.

"What do you do with your time?"

Szayel looked up, surprised by the odd question.

"I conduct experiments of course," he replied, nonplussed and a little off balance.

"What sort of things do you conduct your experiments on?"

"Whatever occurs to me or happens to pique my interest. Whatever needs solving or answering or improving, and sometimes, I'll experiment to test my own limits."

"You ever do anything just for fun?"

"…All my experiments are 'fun.' I do not do anything I don't enjoy, unless it is at the behest of another. What I do is what brings me the greatest delight."

"Huh… doesn't sound like fun to me. It just sounds like a lot of work."

Szayel frowned, looking mildly frustrated.

"You would think that. All you're interested in is killing and savagery. You wouldn't understand the thrill of creating something, of putting knowledge and theory to the test and seeing the tangible results before you. You prove to yourself your worth through fighting? My inventions, failed and successful, are measures of my progress and value. Do you still consider that work?"

Nnoitra flashed him a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, but I can see you're a workaholic, so there's no point trying to convince you otherwise. You ought to go drinking sometime; loosen up. You hardly ever leave your lab."

Szayel grunted sourly.

"That's precisely why I stay in my wing, so I don't have to interact with you barbarians more than is necessary."

"Hah… that might work for ya if you were Starrk, but your reclusive habits only make you suspect to rumor."

"What?"

Szayel's pitch rose a notch, and Nnoitra looked away, a sly smile tugging the corner of his lips.

"You heard me. Your hobbies and 'extracurricular' activities are… disputed."

"What!"

His cheeks colored slightly. The thought had never occurred to him…

"You're blushing," Nnoitra observed.

Szayel's blush deepened as the rage his suppressed piqued.

"I- you- All you sons of bitches can go fuck yourselves!"

He stood abruptly, his back rigid and his hands clenched into fists. Nnoitra rose with him, looming over the smaller man and looking darkly amused.

"Oh come off it Szayel. You can't tell me you're surprised, not when your Resurreccion is so damn flamboyant and your personality the same. You draw attention to yourself all the time, but isolate yourself too. One would think you're playing coy, teasing. And then there's the way you interact with others… honestly Szayel, sometimes I wonder myself. Whether you realize it or not, you act just like a woman. You even bathe alone, and none of the female Arrancar seem to interest ya."

"And what do you think then? What… disgusting notions do you entertain?" Szayel flung back, livid and horribly embarrassed. In the back of his mind, he remembered about his composure, but too late for that. This was the first time someone had brought the matter of his identity to the fore; of course it would be Nnoitra who started it.

"I know you better than the others. Well enough not to be fooled by your demure act and apparent disinterest at least. You're an egocentric, power hungry, sadistic, twisted bastard, which in itself doesn't contradict any rumors, but I do know something else they don't know. Despite how you act, you can't possibly be as loose as they claim if you heat up so quickly over a little accusation like this. You isolate yourself because you're an arrogant bitch, not a coy slut, and…" he said, his eyes gliding down and then back up his body appraisingly, "You sure as hell ain't a female."

Szayel's mouth hung open, speechless, all words fled from his lips. His mind worked in vain to invent some sort of response, but nothing came. His face felt as hot as the color it had turned, and impulse tore him between hiding his face in shame and running, or screaming very, very loudly. In the end he did neither, venting instead through his words.

"Get the fuck out before I turn you into my next experiment!"

"You can't order me out for no reason. I out rank you, Szayel."

"How about I cut off that proof of ranking?"

"Haha! Getting violent? Against me, the Sexta? That's just asking to get your skull kicked in and your throat slit. I like it."

"Oh really? You say you know me so well, Nnoitra. You don't think I couldn't beat you if I wanted to? You beat the former Tres and gained your current rank through my efforts alone! Don't forget that fact. Besides, you could bleed me dry and break every one of my bones, and you wouldn't be able to kill me."

"Is that a challenge then? Are you challenging me to a fight?"

Szayel paused, breathing heavily after his impassioned outburst and considered Nnoitra's question. The Sexta looked positively gleeful at the prospect; his bloodthirsty reiatsu had grown heavier and his eyes were intent upon his face, waiting for his reaction. Every muscle was tensed in anticipation of the conflict, and with a sobering blow, Szayel remembered his savage creed; to fight with all his strength until the day he died on the battlefield outmatched and choking on his own blood.

Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a good idea to antagonize Nnoitra. Still, he would not let the matter slide passively. Pride dictated he turn the argument around, and as he spoke, his voice emerged less heatedly.  
"Are you? Do you want to kill me Nnoitra?"

Nnoitra blinked, his belligerent mood faltering.

"No," he admitted thoughtfully, "Not yet. I still haven't gotten you to help me with –"

"Help you with…?" Szayel inquired, one eyebrow lifting questioningly.

"Oh… shit. Szayel, I –"

"Out!" the pink haired Espada commanded shrilly, "Get out! Now!"

Nnoitra obeyed, surprisingly, walking over to the door. He still held the jade vase Szayel noted with irritation.

"You got me. I slipped up," he admitted reluctantly, "But I will be back, and you won't shake me off so easily. After all, you're too much fun a target to torment; you don't kiss ass like the others, and you could probably last in a fight."

"Give me my vase," Szayel said through gritted teeth.

Nnoitra flashed him a snaky smile.

"No," he said, and kissed the rim, glancing sidelong at the scientist to see his reaction as he taunted, "I think I'll keep it as a memento of our time together."

"Augh! Don't go implying weird things!" Szayel shouted, flustered.

Nnoitra chuckled and stroked the carvings in the jade.

"Hmm? You're the one reading into my words. I guess you do have a dirty mind after all."

"You're the pervert, Nnoitra, not me. I don't go around sleeping with every other Arrancar!"

"Aren't you supposed to be a recluse?" Nnoitra asked as he walked off.

Szayel slammed the door shut, not deigning to reply. His mocking laughter followed him from the hallway and rang in his ears long after the sound had faded.

-.-.-.-.-.-

And indeed, he did return. Szayel woke to the sound of tapping on his door, and scene melted into scene as he wandered his wing in a state of semi consciousness. A crippling sense of déjà vu haunted his every action, threatening to destroy the little sanity he clung to.

Knock knock.

Szayel despaired quietly, an onlooker in his own body as he watched himself mechanically react to every taunt, every innuendo Nnoitra visited upon him. In an absentminded stupor, he noticed when he became the Quinta, furthering the gap in rank between them, and with this new badge of power, the increasingly frequent visits.

Knock knock.

Waking up was probably the worst part. How close they came to blows. Just short of critical injury in fact. Petulant that they hadn't gone further, Nnoitra destroyed his experiments and dropped antagonistic, suggestive commentary.

Knock knock.

How angry he'd felt; how close to breaking down after their most recent visit. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on his forehead and ran down his cheeks like warm tears. His eyes blurred and stung, his vision turning red.

Knock knock.

His head hurt. Everything… fuzzy. When would that damn pounding stop? The lights were too bright… too unreal…

Knock knock.

Tesla gone. Distantly… wonder. Hadn't he already died? Nothing made sense anymore, it was all in his imagination. All a dream…

He seized upon this thought. A dream. It was a dream. Everything up until now had been a dream, and even now he was dreaming. Helpless. He felt helpless…

His dreams and the sound of knocking carried him off again, reality fading into the background.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Knock knock.

Softly, so softly.

Dread.

Knock knock.

Silence.

The soft whisper of footsteps and a click as the door closes. A well known spiritual energy presses against his skin.

Shiver.

Denial.

This isn't happening. None of it is happening.

"Szayel…"

_Don't say anything… I've heard it all before._

"Hey, you can't have that bad of a hangover if you took the medication."

His hand pulls the covers back, and the chill morning air bites his skin. Then, warmth as that same hand shakes his shoulder. He tenses, curling into a ball.

Not happening… its just another memory…

"Szayel, move your lazy ass will ya? I know you're not asleep." Nnoitra drawled, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

Szayel sat up and grabbed Nnoitra by the shirtfront, pulling the Quinta towards him with a wild expression.

"Are you real or are you just another dream?" he implored, his voice cracking with the urgency he felt. Panic rose inside, knotting painfully in his throat and saturating each word with emotion.

Nnoitra looked confused.

"What… the hell? Are you really Szayel?"

Szayel looked down at his hands wrapped firmly in the cloth of Nnoitra's uniform and laughed nervously at his own temerity, dream or not. A moment later, his hysteria tinged laughter cut off, leaving him shaky and unstable. Finally succumbing to his fit of madness, he buried his face in Nnoitra's chest and sobbed. Nnoitra, stunned, didn't move.

_If this is what he's like after drinking, I need to get him drunk more often_ he thought even as the smaller Espada pulled away and wiped his eyes, finally relinquishing his strangle hold on Nnoitra's shirt. Having overcome the worst of his mania, he spoke again in a tentative, quavering voice.

"Yes… I think. Its just, I can't wake up… I don't know if I'm still dreaming… I… everything. I've relived everything. How much longer until I'm all caught up?"

"Well," Nnoitra remarked soothingly, "Aren't'cha awake now?"

"Yes, but I've woke from so many dreams only to find I'm still dreaming… I can't trust my own judgment."

"Have ya ever been aware that you were dreaming before?"

"Not until recently…"

"And if you were reliving your experiences as you say, wouldn't this conversation seem strange?"

The logic was irrefutable. Szayel felt himself calming down as the possibilities that spun endlessly around him settled into a more coherent mold.

"So… what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to fetch you; we've got a date, remember? We're killing Aizen today."

Killing Aizen.

Everything fell into place with startling clarity.

"Ah yes. That's right…" he murmured, running a hand through his tousled hair and straightening his clothes, which he noticed needed changing.

Nnoitra noticed too and grinned lasciviously.

"You sure you're not gonna foam at the mouth and faint in the shower? I wouldn't mind stickin' around a bit longer…"

Szayel gave him his primmest look and pushed him towards the door.

"Kindly banish all memories of my recent lapse from your mind before I do. I'll be ready in an hour. Until then, go figure something to do with yourself that won't necessitate my removing your only eye; I know about the cameras."

"Fuck! A whole hour? You're worse than Sun Sun!"

"Out," he warned, "Or you can fight Aizen by yourself,"

Nnoitra looked mutinous but acquiesced, vacating the room. Just before he left, a thought occurred to Szayel.

"Oh, wait Nnoitra!"

He looked up, hopeful.

"I want my vase back. Also, don't ever knock on my door again."

Nnoitra's eyes widened.

"Son of a… you really weren't kidding about those dreams, were you? What else do you remember?"

"Plenty," he replied curtly, and shut the door.


End file.
